Melanie, my soul sister

I remember very clearly the day you declared that we were sisters. That I was your sister. It was so right. I felt impossibly lucky to have you say this. I loved you so much. I love you now. I will love you forever through time, space and dimensions unknown yet.

I met you on that fateful morning on the LA mountains, it was the day I had arrived in California for the second time on my journey. Looking at the map, I had picked the road with most zig zags and it took me to  one of the most fateful mornings of my life.

There suddenly was a massive amount of sport bikes all gathered in one spot.   I pulled over and approached a couple standing close to the road : “What is going on here?” I asked.   These two were Steve and Sunny. Those who have followed this blog know plenty about Steve and Sunny. Steve then introduced me to Melanie as a fellow motorcycle adventuress.  She had just finished herself a trip around the american continent on a Triumph named Bruce.

I loved you immediately.  You radiated a sort of peace, poise, all this wrapped in gentleness. We chatted, and then at one point she said with a noticeable emphasis : “If you ever need ANYTHING, call me.”  Here is the photo of that day, the moment of us meeting. She stands there, so strong, so calm, mythic.

the day we met on the mountain

A number a weeks later, my Suzuki gave up the ghost, I was near Joshua Tree on my way back from Death Valley and Las Vegas.  I remembered her words and I called her.   I got a ride back to Los Angeles courtesy of my ever dependable AAA membership riding a flat bed truck, me in the cab, the bike tied solidly onto the back of the truck along with two other cars. He dropped us off in a dark alley somewhere in LA at the location where the mechanic’s shop was supposed to be, it was too dark to tell.

I was filthy exhausted, kind of heart broken over the dead bike. I walked back to the main road and waited for Melanie.   I was standing under a street light wearing leathers, filthy, bikeless, covered in road grime, bike grease and flattened bugs and two days of camping grime when they pulled up, it could have been the picture of utter defeat, when Melanie and her husband Ozzy pulled up to the curb.

I was standing there holding my saddle bags and gear. They drove a beautiful black car with white interior. I was embarrassed to sit on the pristine leather of the back seat. They were both smiling, warm, they greeted me with such humanity. They gave me a bed and a roof, it was going to be until the bike was repaired….

Oh Melanie, to see you shine. So creative, always exploring new ideas, new worlds, you were a wonder to behold.   With me are all those conversations over gorgeous food, generous servings of laughter, talks of motorcycles, life, red necks, Gothic worlds and everything in between.

I admire the care you took to live every second of life to its fullest. To be so in the moment. I admire your creative mind, you are a master artist at art and at life.  Like the gusto with which you manifested your book among other things.

I loved walking with you, watching you cook, wathcing you catch the thread of an inspiration as you plunged into books and magazines hungry for beautiful, inspiring things. I love to see your mind taking off at full gallop.

I remember the trip to Arizona for the bead show, I remember celebrations after the Klatch performances with Forrest. I remember your indestructible support for my music. I remember the care packages you sent to Nashville, they had been put together with such attention, love… I remember your calligraphy, the care you took to chose the perfect card, then chose the words then write those words… I remember laughing at Isabel that one night, how much we laughed. Thank you for giving me some of the very best days of my life.

the gang of bead masters in Tuscon

We made a “to do” list of cool things we had to see together. I found it a little while ago, still hoping I could get some of those done with you…   But my hopes floundered. Then I floundered. And I never managed to get back to San Dimas in time to catch you and I didn’t even manage to say goodbye or thank you for all the goodness, love, acceptance you brought into my life.

My sister, my dear soul sister… I hear you left us in a peaceful way. Now the Gods get to wear the most luscious jewels of beads of gold, bones, feathers and the most impossibly intricate designs ever seen.   I love you. Love you forever. And ever. And ever.

things of beauty and wonder

well, I won`t get into the details but the last 2, 3 weeks have been very intense.  Personal stuff stirred up and much uncertainty engulfed me in a sort of personal madness.  It`s much calmer now and that is a good thing.  Very good thing.

Sometimes it seems everything hits you in the face and you wonder why the world is so tough… then you realize that what you are being dished is exactly what you’ve been brewing, cultivating, imagining in your own mind, your decisions, judgments, fears materializing into your  ”today”.

It’s a humbling shock. I always think I’m so damn smart, that I will be seeing it all coming… Then the train comes without warning and you’re splattered like a Pollok’s painting.  Beautifully undone.

The realization came in a big, fat, red neon sign, blinking madly between my ears : You are running.  You have been running for the last year.  You have to stop running or you will disintegrate your engine.  Oil on the track and everyone will end up in the decor.

Since Vancouver last April I’ve been running, racing, floundering and since then I kept running.

With the “not knowing where I’ll sleep”,  the friend’s couches, the no money, the cold, the rain, the last minute saves from my angels,  the marathon crossing of the continent, the second failed attempt at crossing the border, the album never materializing, the constant wondering, pondering, questioning, accepting then not accepting. Constantly fighting with what is and what cannot be changed, with here or there? With the fact that I seem to find no way to belong here…
With the winter, the bike was stored but my mind kept sprinting.

For the first time in my life I felt old.  I felt used up.  My body betraying me with all sorts of ailments.  I felt my mind drifting out of reach.  I could not count on me anymore.  I felt exhausted, empty.   For the first time I felt like the times had passed me, left me behind.

So this last crisis was the culmination of all this.  There I am, at the very bottom of the ladder, physically, economically, mentally.

My friend Forrest said to me : You are a Warrior, but you are also human.  We had a massive communication.  And he helped me “see”.  Forrest is wise.  Impossibly generous.

The thing about running is that you actually accomplish nothing other than motion.  There is no creation, no expression, no living other than experiencing velocity.  You can kind of look good doing it…  but the oil degrades, the metal whines, wears, and things come to a halt.

Last Saturday I managed to make a decision.  I decided to stop for a while and that felt like the correct estimation of what should be done.

Just about immediately on the heels of that decision a voice kind of said  :  ” you need a work space, a studio.”  Two days later I had one.  I looked online and found 2 ads.  Monday I got a call.

” So are you still looking for a studio space?”

“Yes I am.”

The girl explained what it was, where it was, how much it was.  I said :

“Can I see it?”

Tuesday morning I saw it and decided to take it.  I wrote a cheque (didn’t have all the money in the bank account but I figured it was right so things would work out and they did.)  I had no art supplies, no more paints, brushes, no tools…  but I figured it would work out and it did. The girl left a table and 2 shelves which was the bare minimum needed to get started.

Today some unexpected money showed up, so I went to the bank and covered the missing $20, then I bought a few brushes at the art store, they happened to have a 50% discount on them, I also picked about 10 small paint jars, some gesso and tomorrow I will stop at the hardware store to get a few pieces of wood to use as boards and I have a tiny bit of polymer clay to start on the first horse.

the loft

Now I’m wishing for a stool or chair, a lamp or two, and I really do need to get an eye exam and get proper glasses so I can see what I’m doing…

My little spot with a just washed floor.

I know this is right.  I will stay put for a little while, get stronger, calm down, find peace, get creative.  It will heal me.

The other thing I need really badly is to find some work… I’ve  applied to probably 50 ads online these last few days… no positive answer yet.  But I know the right thing will come along.

The music you ask?  Well I got my license to play at the Market, I will start Saturday with Samantha, it will help break the ice to not be alone.

Today as I was going around town, I felt good.  I was on my bike, not a touring bike but a run around bike, (I could not help but think about Beowulf and why my fate was to lose that perfect travel bike and it being replaced by this new bike which is definitely not a long distance touring machine…)  I felt the air, I felt free, I went fast, I could move around, get things done like going to my little studio space tonight, with my new 10 colors, new brushes, some paper and pencils.   I looked around, it was perfect.  I can settle here for a while.  Imagine new things.  Find life or let it find me since I’m not going so fast now.

My mother woke me up. I had been in a slumber close to a coma. The cat woke me in the middle of the night, she was playing with a mini felt mouse, and I decided to just let her be and put ear plugs in. So I disappeared between the very many blankets that had been gotten for me.

I was emerging from dreams in a fantastical world where we were trying to figure out thing, escaping, long medieval dresses, horses… Oh, yeah the audition.

I took quite a bit of time, I like doing that as a diversion to stress, I leisurely get closer to the target time, kind of pretending that nothing special is going on, all the while systematically getting each detail attended to and ready. I warmed up my hands and they were stiff, I washed my hair, put on my war paint, uh.. make up, got dressed, had breakfast, coffee, chatted with mom, then played some more guitar until almost 1 PM. Then I got geared up, helmet, gloves and jacket and headed out to Montreal to the CBC building. I got there really quickly. Sundays are sleepy in Montreal, as if the whole city cures a massive hangover, every Sunday without fault. There were a few cyclists, some hard core health nuts by the looks of them, zooming by on the bike lane but not much else.

As I dismounted I wanted to take a photo of the bike, as a reminder of this moment. I was doing that when I heard a voice from behind me say : “ Would you like me to take a picture of you?”

I turned around and there was a woman I had seen walking on the sidewalk a few moments earlier as I was getting there. Usually I say no, I’m not crazy about having my picture taken, but this time I did. I handed her my phone and showed her how to operate it.

“Just press this icon on the glass” I said.

“on the glass?” Yes right there.

I stood in front of the bike my stuff laying around it. Click. Done.

“So you ride this?”

“Yes I do.” I answered.

She was beautiful, at least her late forties, her hair was white, she wore a colorful but tasteful coat, she exuded gentleness, kindness. Her face was open, her bright eyes like the sparkles in a waterfall.

“I used to ride a Suzuki 250… that was a lifetime ago…”

“Oh I used to have an old Suzuki, loved it. It took me everywhere…

“What is that?” she asked.

“Oh it’s my guitar, a travel guitar, I’m going for an audition, here at Radio-Canada, I wanted to capture the moment with a photo. What is your name?” I asked.
“Marie, what is yours?”

“Danielle.”

She looked deeply in my eyes and said : “ It will go great. You will do great.” She came closer and hugged me.

It was so pure. Beautiful. Impossibly real.

“Thank you.” I said.

Marie's photo

She handed me the phone, said something about not wanting to make me late and she walked away as I was pulling the guitar over my shoulder.

Those,

those are the gifts of life. Those are what I live for. I was blown away. I felt I had been touched by an angel.

I felt charged with an otherworldly purpose.

I walked towards the building, It is a huge tower. A place where so much cultural history, for French Canadians, has been created, has filled airwaves and has shaped the people of this province.

the big tower

I got to the door, well, the doors. There were many and they were all locked. I backed up one step and saw and intercom. I pressed the button as another lady was getting close. The door opened slowly, almost with reverence.

“Oh just like magic!” I said as we entered the building. The lady laughed a sweet laugh. I looked around, saw the reception and approached.

“I’m here for Petite Vallee.”

“Your name?”

“Danielle Hebert”

She explained how to go down the escalator, turn left at the bright lights, follow the studio numbers.. You are going to studio 14.

the lobby

I engraved that in my gray matter.

“Can I get a bottle of water around here?” My mouth was drying up at an alarming rate.

“Yes, go left, then turn right, the cafeteria is right there.”

So I went got some water, turned around, went to the studio, I was early, so I got time to warm up in the washroom, voice, guitar. My voice is pretty good. I wish I could be a bit more relaxed. I wish I did not have to have two sleepless nights Thursday and Friday night, I wished I could have done just a little bit more on Friday, but Friday was the 13^th and things went to hell and back that day. So one has to make the best with what is.

one of the beautiful features inside a lit up wall decoration

I did some vocalises and started on a song, then it happened, my voice opened up on the high notes. That was a good sign. My voice is a strange entity.

warm up space, an ante-chamber to the washroom

It has surprised me many, many times. Once, I was so sick I could barely talk, went on stage and a giant sound came out of my throat. That was an impossibility but it was… The voice is the mirror of the soul, it does not lie. My fingers were not as nimble as I wished… two minutes to 2. Time to go to the studio.

follow the sign

I got there, a really nice woman was there, Alika, probably the wrong spelling… she had me fill up the forms for the judges. We chatted a bit while I was getting ready.

Finally it was time to go in. I met with the sound technician. I saw that there was amplifiers, piano, microphone… I assumed it would be a dry audition…

“oh, I could have brought some toys…” I said. I had debated bringing musicians, pedals, produce the presentation a bit more, then on someone’s advice, I went solo.

I warmed up, the room sounded absolutely great. How I miss that. A great sounding room. Not the din that one finds at open mics and such places.

The judges walked in. They were nice, warm. I started. I started with a very solid song. I did what I have to do : hold back, use the dynamics, let the voice feel welcome and grow in confidence. It worked but for some micro moments when I could feel my tension. More than I would have wanted, but I smiled, enjoyed the process, started to actually play.

My main mistake, and it came to haunt me, was to forget to grab a pick of the second song. I needed the pick to create the dynamics, instead I fumbled over a chord, and could not do what I wanted on the guitar. Vocally it was there though.

After I was done, the judges deliberate and then you go meet with them. I came in and in the air was a yin and yang vibe.

On my right, the one judge loved it. He was extremely complimentary on my voice.

On my left, he said, it took me quite a while to get into it… It is your music, it’s as if I had to imagine what was in your head in order to understand your music. The judge on the right then added : “I was ahead of the game, I had listened to your arrangements… you have very rich arrangements…

I knew exactly what they meant. I sound better with a band. I write in multi-tracking parts in my mind, I hear them, others, not necessarily. My recordings are the sum of those parts. I don’t really do the chugga-chugga three chord songs… It gets dense, complex and at times it’s brilliant and other times it works against me. “On the one song I did not get your chorus at all..” I totally knew which one he meant. That was the one with the pick missing… That one had been designed to be played with someone else… I had considered getting people to play with me… then changed my mind. I was going to use the looper pedal and make rhythm tracks to create the 3 dimensionality, then I thought there wasn’t going to be any equipment there and decided to go for the bare approach. I made the wrong choices.

They asked me to play another song. I did. I went for it all the while wondering if I picked the right one. The left side judge said he was going to listen to my recordings, to see what it was that I was trying to do. Then it was time to go.

I left. Exited the building. Clouds had covered the sky, the city looked empty, too quiet. I wondered if I failed or not. 50/50. That is not victory. I climbed on the bike and left. At least I have this. On the way back I reflected on the music industry-scene. They now have songwriters school… people go to school and come out with diplomas. It’s a formula thing. You do this, then add that, stir a bit and hopefully you got the “whole package” (charisma, a pretty face, and some quirkiness to differentiate yourself from the pack)

I do my “artist thing” and fail the industry standards…

So I’m either brilliant or they don’t get me. But I did my best despite life’s push and shove and throw me off of my game on the few days just before the audition. They will tell us next week. Honestly, My feeling is that I did not nail it. One feels those things. It’s written in the sky, in the threads of the fabric of the universe. I do perfectly understand why. My talent or skills never in question, just my wild ways and a few things that put you behind. The few percentage points that make winners win and losers lose. So close yet so far.

I arrived at mom’s home, changed, removed the make up, ate a sandwich, hugged her very close and headed out. Clouds were thickening, the rain was in the air it was going to be a bit of a storm cloud race. Hopefully I won’t get soaked.

But my day had pure magic. Marie was magic, some notes I sang were magical and the sound was perfect and that was quite a gift.

My future is uncertain. I may find myself on the road or somewhere else very soon… After the high of getting ready for this and the nerves that have carried me since yesterday I am gradually sinking as the muscles and the tension releases.

Happens what must.

It had been raining, I stepped out for a walk, first by the Rideau Canal then I landed by the Ottawa River, just behind the parliament.  It ended near the bridge, where even the trees are numbered here in this government workers town.   But there was magic, there always is magic if you can let it touch you.

To live and ride

Live and let ride or Ride and let live

I felt the wind hit my face, a stream of air coming from the gap between my helmet and my chin. I smiled.

What is this? Why is it so damn vital?

Maybe I and my fellow rider friends come from some far away race in a distant galaxy who were “Riders”.  Maybe they rode some mighty animal or impossibly fast and nimble machines through the Universe?  Maybe it is an heritage that we are carrying in our long lost memories?

I don’t mind anything when I ‘m on two wheels, my world can fall apart around me and I’ll still find a way to paste a smile on my face. To take that deep breath the fills me with ultimate well being. To tell myself “Peace” while all the idiots, the blind, the selfish, the harried, the angry, the self entitled can swear, threaten, speed, cut three lanes, pass on the right, tail gate, slow to a crawl and I am just fine.

How to explain that I could plan my future on the one fact that “here I could ride all year ’round.”

So here we are, April 10, yeah, 4 months into this 2012 year already. I’ve been floating it seems for months. Winter was like a coma of sorts. Now it seems I have until October to make something happen. After that it gets harder, more terminal.

There has been some good things happening, my album is actually progressing, I’ve been waiting for so long, it has been hard. Get your hopes up, then slowly losing focus and hope and patience over the whole endlessness. I am working with someone now to plan the release and every time we discuss it’s exciting but when that is over, I still can’t quite believe anything will ever happen. In a way it’s better, there are no expectations. But in another way, it’s not so good because you’re either stuck in the past, waiting, unable to move forward.   Waiting kills inspiration and doingness.  that is bad for a creator.

I’ve been attending quite a few music events, conferences, and workshops since last fall. Just about a month ago I was in Toronto for the Canadian Music Week getting my head filled to the gills with someone’s opinion on what it takes to succeed. These are interesting times in the industry. I learn more everyday, like the fact that most of the artists from the major labels from 35 years ago will start regaining the rights they gave away when they signed their recording contracts. Which could mean that the major labels could lose most of the source of catalog income, which is a huge shift. That could also mean that the speed of changes we’ve been witnessing might yet accelerate some more.

For those interested, I got this little booklet from Tunecore called “Music Industry Survival Manual. I would recommend it to all the musicians-artists slugging it out there.

For one, all your creator’s rights are listed, how they work, how you collect them, how you’re getting ripped off. Then there is a chapter about how to approach the industry, build your own little industry, where the revenue streams are. Yeah, revenue streams and monetizing your songs are two big, popular lines these days. check Tunecore.com if that is relevant to you.

And… I had applied months ago to the Petite Vallée songwriting camp in June. I applied then promplty forgot about it. Well, last week I got an email inviting me to an audition in Montreal at Radio Canada Sunday April 15. I was practically in shock! Then the email said I was going to get a call… I was tremulous about that. I mean, for me to be ‘accepted’ and to be part of something in this part of the world is kind of … profound for me. So I got on the phone with Nelson Minville and he told me immediately how much they loved the music, the lyrics and the recording, how impressed they were!!! Wow. I was just blown away.
So I will go and play 4 songs to earn myself a spot for this two week dream songwriting camp. I had been thinking that maybe I could write another French project, this intensive would be ideal to ignite the process. They have some of the best instructors, coaches, artists to support us for two weeks. There will be performances too and the camaraderie of other writers. The place is located in Gaspésie, by the Atlantic ocean, an old character home turned auberge, a brand new concert room, and … the wind. So wish me luck.

If that happens it will help shape my next few months. This takes place at the end of June beginning of July, then I have shows in Winnipeg in late July and I`m still hoping to hop in Vancouver… and if the CD does get done I`ll probably prepare for a fall release…

I`ve also procured myself a permit to play in the Byward Market in Ottawa. That is something I want to experience. Go and busk.

In the mean time I bought some chain lube for the bike, got the missing cable to be able to plug in my heated vest (it`s still pretty cold around here, especially when the sun is not there) I just froze last Saturday coming back from Montreal… brrrrr!!!! so now I can plug in that heated vest and crank it!

I also bought some cleaner, I had forgotten the mess with chains! The BMW had a shaft drive, no mess but not as much fun!

Last week I had coffee with a friend, she looked at me in the eyes and said : “You’reso lucky, you get to ride a motorcycle… You’re so lucky you have love in your life… You’re so lucky you can play an instrument and sing… You’re so lucky you can do sculpture…” And it was so crystal clear. I was reminded that we chose everything we do. We have the power to make our lives what they are. And yes, I am so damned lucky. I must continue dreaming and imagining. Continue creating, forging.

And riding.

my Suzuki SV 650 S

Well, I love it.

I would not let myself believe it was going to materialize until it happened. It was a strange thing for me. Usually I would get so excited, thinking,  jumping,  talking, sharing, bubbling over like a shaken can of Sprite. But not this time. I’ve noticed that over the last months, I am not as readily extroverted as I used to be.  I don’t know if it’s good or bad… for some people I guess it make me less of a wild bronco to handle…  but somehow I did not want to jinx or create something that would change the direction of the Force.  I guess I am in a much more conservative place than I am used to…  did not want to ruffle feathers…

So Saturday morning we went to see the bike.  I wasn’t even sure if this was just going to be a meet and greet thing or if we were going to go all the way and I was going to take my new baby home (!)  So I had taken my helmet and jacket and left them in the trunk of the car in case all went well.  I was strongly hoping for that.

In the morning light, black, copper, silver

We arrived on time and there it was.  Parked in the driveway with a black sun bleached bike cover.  I was feeling tremulous.   Almost shy.  We pulled off the cover and had a look.  It’s beautiful, the aluminum frame, the copper color, and the black accents.  It shines in the morning sun.  It’s simple, no extra things, beautiful lines.  It has been really well cared for, even all the warning stickers are still on the bike!  It only has 9000 KM on it.  Everything is stock and original, even the tires and brake pads.

The owner started it. the  Bzzzzt! sound from the injection system  instantly reminds me of Little Blue, Ozzy’s Buell XB 9 back in California.  The engine sounds good.  It has the original exhaust system so it’s very quiet and I like that.  Beowulf was actually quite loud and I always had to wear ear plugs so this is another plus.   We lowered the seat by softening the suspension, backed it up near the road….

Finally I took it for a ride.  The owner is warning me about the zippyness of this thing.  ”Go easy on the throttle, it will accelerate in a hurry.  I’ve ridden nervous machines before so I know what he means.  I will go easy, a new machine is a bit like a new horse, you gotta make friends first.

Let go of the clutch, forward motion.  Wow.  I love it already.  The foot pegs are high up, it feels just perfect.  I go around the block of a residential area, so I did not go past 2nd gear but I’m sold.  I was sold as soon as I saw it.

The next step was to go get the licensing process done so we went to a Service Ontario office, took a number : 56 and waited. The line was big but somehow we did not wait very long. The lady who helped us was beyond efficient. Within minutes we were done, taxes paid, papers signed and now my next step was to get the bike “safety checked” before getting a permanent sticker for my plate. But I could ride it in the mean time.

So there I was : new plate and papers in hand, ownership transferred, money paid for taxes and for the bike….  As we head out of that office it finally happened, I burst out:”OH MY GOD!!!  IT’S HAPPENING!!!”  and I did a little jump and stomp, smiling from ear to ear.  My friends are looking at me and they’re smiling too.  I think the owner is quite glad to see his bike go to someone who will really enjoy it.  It’s a good moment.

We then went back to the bike, put the new plates on

Today I went to get the safety check done. A $50 formality where they check all the main components of the bike for safety. It passed.  I will need to get new rubber within a thousand KM. But otherwise all is well.

To go back home I took the highway, I hit 100 KM per hour for the first time. Yeah, slow stuff but as I said I’m into taking my time with a new machine, get to feel how it responds and all before opening things up but I can tell you that I got to bank it on the on ramp and it promises some exciting stuff for future rides.

It is hard to explain but in an inscrutable way, it is as if some part of me came back to life. Those two short rides I took brought back this feeling in my heart, sparked my soul in a way I had forgotten.  How to explain?  Those who ride know exactly what I mean.  It’s like reconnecting into timelessness, being on, alive, fully, right here and now.  Being outside time and space in some sort of ultra-present state.  To fly, unburdened, weightless.  To be free of gravity on this earth.  To un-be the body and become the electron, the particle in this world of energy.

hello to you too!

I just helped set him up on a trailer en route to his new life. He’s going to Newfoundland. He’s going to be with family, the man who bought him has two other K75 bikes, so he won’t be alone and the person who is going to ride him is a girl named Danielle. How wild is that?

Beowulf being walked away

Everything went down quite fast.

Last week, I had it taken for the 30 K maintenance which included lubing the splines. When the mechanic opened it up he discovered the splines were seriously damaged. The cost : $3500. I could not justify that for that old of a bike. If I was able to do repairs myself it would be conceivable as it is a great bike with much life left into it.  But those BMW’s are singular machines and you better know what you’re doing if you are going to keep one or have deep pockets, I have neither at this point.

On Sunday night I put an ad online on Kijiji, Craigslist and UsedOttawa. Monday morning I had a dozen emails of interested people.  By Monday night the deal was done. Tuesday afternoon the bike was on a trailer.

 
I believe that when you sell something, you end up meeting like minded people. If you loved what you sell, you’ll find people with the same sort of affinity, interests, I’ve met some amazing folks via selling things. Fascinating.

So Monday night, this couple showed up. They are friends of the buyer in Newfoundland, they came to vet the bike for him. We went into the garage, I uncovered the bike, started it, they didn’t say much, it was overall a very calm affair, we exchanged motorcycle stories, BMW stories and some world views. The main comment : Nice bike.  They left about a half hour later.

They called me back about 20 minutes later to tell me that Dave in Newfoundland wanted the bike, then I got an email with an offer from Dave which was only $50 lower than the price I had asked. all of this  felt right, from the moment I read the first email. I wanted Beowulf to have a good home. I needed a specific buyer, a BMW enthusiast who was mechanically inclined and knew the K bikes. And there he was.  Perfect match

tightly secured down.

I accepted the offer.  Let it go.  Let things move on.

So today I went in the garage to fuss over this bike one more time, got the saddle bags, put them on the bike, took my stuff out the the tool compartment like my flashlight and the compressed air capsules, I put the seat back in place, moved the bike so it was easy to get out and went upstairs to get the papers ready.

I called ICBC to make sure I had all the right papers, then I called Newfoundland to see what papers I needed, got ‘em together and put them in an envelope. I got the keys, put the house keys on another key chain… all sort of ordinary yet symbolic kind of thing. I waited for them to call.
They showed up, he walked the bike to the trailer… I was looking at Beowulf, that beautiful red color, the shapes, the angles, my bike… I did not really feel any powerful emotions, I noticed that lately, I used to explode one way or another, now I keep it in check. Just my stomach tightening and my jokes are a bit too loud.

Goodbye sweet red machine

The buyers asked me if I wanted a photo with Beowulf. I declined. I don’t want to see my face at this moment immortalized on a photo.

So the deal was done, a big piece of metal against a small paper envelope. So life goes on planet Earth.

Onward you go.

Right now I’m sitting in a cafe, I’m feeling slightly dislocated but at the same time I know all is good. There is another ride waiting for me, right around the corner, something that will be more suitable for my size and use. Something fast and sweet. But still, those metal machines are like horses, you develop a relationship, a partnership and to see a partner go after so many adventures has quite an impact.

Adieu my German machine, it took some doing to get used to your ways, then you took me on this wild ride from March to October, from San Dimas to Ottawa, often being my only stability when things became very uncertain.  I could count on you.  Thank you.  Thank you for landing in my life when you did.  Big thanks to the universe, to the forces that made us connect and that are now separating us.  I trust the adventure will continue.

After staying to watch the undescribable Mister Valaire’s set,I decided to walk back to my friend’s apartment where I was staying, instead of taking transit, I needed the fresh air, to move my body and to experience the night.  The day had been so intense and full, this was what I needed.
I had spent all day at one of the fanciest hotels I had ever been in, the Fairmont Royal York in downtown Toronto to catch the songwriter’s summit’s workshops and conferences that was part of the Canadian Music Week from 9 AM to 7PM sitting in slightly too warm rooms, wading through thousands of people and filling my head with more information than I had in a long time.

I got to see the guy who wrote the Gambler (Kenny Rogers) sing the song himself, the guy who wrote “How Will I Know?” (Whitney Houston) play and explain how the song came to be.  And the song “Closing Time” A song I had played over and over when I did cover gigs by myself… that was really cool.

the kings of songwriting in action

Back to my night stroll, as I walked I found myself in the area where the Toronto Art Gallery is located. There was also a school of art and everything was huge and artful. Then to my right… a huge sculpture, rounded shapes, monumental size, I thought of Alberto (my sculpture master) and I thought : “ could it be?”

And it was.

It was a Henry Moore sculpture. There was a bronze plaque on the ground to prove it.

I had only seen them in books, but the forms, the lines, the essence were unmistakable. I walked around and inside it. Wow. What a gift. I felt embraced by it.

I reluctantly left,

I kept walking in this new unknown city. I turned right, down University Street. Toronto is big. It’s the biggest city in Canada. It has history, wealth, stature.   You feel that bigness staring down on you.  A mix of old school and corporate shine.

Suddenly I felt a presence.

I stopped.

It was dark, I had just passed another interesting sculpture that looked like a roman roof supported by human shapes instead of columns. I smelled. Looked around, there was an iron gate, no one around. I looked up and saw them.

They were barely visible against the dark of night but they were so there. Tiny leaves… Spring. Life. There was an essence of vitality so strong that was what stopped me. Very likely they had just come to the world within the last few hours. It felt like an enchantment, right here in the middle of this urban mecca. Fragile, tiny, leaves.

I was so taken. I cannot explain. I live for those moments and there hasn’t been enough of them lately. The magic, the mysterious ways of this earth and the life on it.  Yes I know the photos are too dark but that is how it was.

I was thinking : I can’t forget this moment… I have to write… lets take a photo… I probably won’t see a thing but at least it will remind me of this magical instant where my soul osmosed into nature for a moment. I took photos, could not stop!

reflexions

I took my first trolley bus ride on the way up

Oh city, big city, you hold the dreams and the defeats in the palm of your cement and glass hands

Reluctantly, again, I left the scene. I walked for another 40 minutes or so and got to my friend’s apartment on the 19^th floor of a 35 storey building right by the harbour. Thankful to have been magicked.

So here I go again..

Monday morning,

city work day

I got up early, 8 AM and for those who know me this is VERY early. I could hardly focus visually or even walk with full coordination but I did get up and that was good.

Lately, many events in my life point out to a : “Lets..” direction, as lets move on, lets go, and also let go .

One of these “lets” events happened last week. I had sent the bike, yes my Beowulf, for maintenance. I had just enough money for the planned $700 splines lubrication and 30 thousand miles routine maintenance. A couple of hours after he picked up the bike, the mechanic called to let me know there were bad news. I braced myself…   “OK, I thought, I can do $1500…  I’ll find a way…”   Then, the words landed in my ear as such :  The splines were worn out and a seal inside the transmission was leaking. Total for repairs : $3500.   And that is in hopes that nothing else is found to be wrong…

Beowulf at the shop

Three grand.  HOLY SH#$@!  This is way above what I can afford… or much more accurately, want to afford. The question is : “is it worth it?” What if I put that kind of money in there and have, say, a carburetor issue 2 months down the road?  Some other dried out seal?  Gasket?

He said that the problems were mostly caused by the fact that the bike sat around for years. Well, doesn’t that also mean that the integrity of the rest of the bike is questionable ?

open heart surgery

I stood there torn between the very strong desire to close my eyes and say “do it” so it wouldn’t hurt, so I’d keep my baby with me and a sort of indignation like “are you kidding me?!”.

The way this bike came into my life felt like we were going to be partners for a long time coming. “The unofficial record is that these bikes go for 300 thousand miles with minimal maintenance…”  I was seeing ourselves riding in so many, many sunsets…   Now this is a huge setback with more setbacks looming.

I have been emotional with vehicles before and it always, without fail, was a mistake. When they are dying, these metal steeds, there is nothing you can do, metal wears in a terminal way, corrosion is unstoppable and rubber seals and gaskets only live so long and all this combined makes for an irrevocable ending.

I told him I had to think about it. I was quite confused and I was sad.  I could not compute an answer just yet.  He gave me until Monday to answer.

on the right, the offending part

The next morning, (coincidence)  a friend contacted me. He owns a 2003 Suzuki VS 650 S, he has ridden it about 1000 KM per year, has maintained it meticulously and he decided he wasn’t going to keep it and that I could buy it for the cost of the repairs somewhere around $3500.

Hmmmm….  Interesting for sure as I sit there looking at my options with Beowulf  which are :

-Get it fixed.

-Don’t get it fixed and bring it and the parts home to wait until I can afford it.

-Get the bike put back together and take it home and pay $600 of labor for nothing.

In the mean time I emailed many friends who are into bikes and asked for their opinion about the repairs.

I do have a slight feeling that I might, possibly be taken advantage of in this situation or maybe this guy is not giving me one millimeter of a break…  it’s just a feeling…  from my friends comments, this 3 thousand dollars is quite high.  But hey, I do believe that things happen for a reason, and if it is how this comes to be, then the decisions I will take will be the decisions I must make and the rest of it is not my problem.

So Monday came about.  And I had made up my mind :  Put the bike back together, bring it home and try to sell it, when that is done, buy the Suzuki.   I called the mechanic, got an answering machine and left a message.  Done.  Phew…  Wow…

night view with fog

I should get Beowulf back here next week, then it will be about trying to sell it and moving on.

Ottawa sky

Unlocking, unblocking, moving ahead, moving on. Forward motion… how I miss forward motion. This whole winter holed up in an apartment on the 11^th floor, watching winter go by.

This unseasonably warm March is good for the soul, 24 degrees Celsius yesterday, 21 today. The snow and ice are almost completely gone, I can dream of new rides, new RPMs and leave the past be.

snow, let it snow

I looked out the window around noon and it was just this inocuous light snow flitting in the air.  By 3 PM I lifted my gaze from the computer screen and it was practically a white out.  The city scape was gone.  I went out a bit later to take it all in.

Huddling together

church, trees and pedestrian

winter baby blues

everything keeps on going no matter what

and the advertisers know what you wish for

twins in white robes

winter abstract from the bus shelter

everything changes under the snow, the mundane becomes glorious

the knit bombers at work...

crossing the street at rush hour

Bank street

winter tree de light

perfect show if it was for tonight...

snow shadow

While the snow is still fresh is the time to capture the magic.  Tomorrow it will be slush and puddles and dirty wetness all around but right now it’s fairytailish.